Killers
by OrbitZero
Summary: Green Mile AU. Instead of the benevolent John Coffey arriving, a sadistic psychopath becomes the newest inmate on death row. He has a dark secret, and he's passing it on to one of the guards, whether they want it or not...
1. Chapter 1

Green Mile AU fic. Instead of the benevolent man, John Coffey, being the new inmate, we have the sadistic psychopath, Albrecht Falken, who has a dark secret. And it isn't the string of brutal murders he's committed all over the country.

I sort of thought it'd be interesting if I tried a GM fic that was actually closer to King's usual horror than the original. Don't get me wrong, GM is a fantastic book, and great movie. I'd just like to play around a bit.

Then there's the bit that I don't own Green Mile la di da di da you know.

M for violence and language throughout, mostly.

Killers

One

It'd been a long drive in the unseasonal fall heat that evening. Across the county lines to some small town prison, where they didn't even have a ward for death row convicts. Cold Mountain Penitentiary was still the state prison at the time, so any of those sorts got to take a trip there before they died. Most of the lifers were funneled over into the penitentiary as well.

An older fellow was at the wheel, somewhat thankful that the trip was almost over. He could see the imposing brick building from where they were on the road. A smaller guy sat next to him in the passenger seat, biting his nails out of boredom. They didn't talk. Neither one liked the other very much, and didn't see much reason to exchange words if they didn't have to.

And then there was the third passenger, being towed in the back. A German man, in his late thirties, with shaggy, dirty hair, and fierce dark eyes that were uncomfortable to look at, or have looking at you for too long. He always had a wicked grin on his dirty, unshaven face, like he was up to something. Gears were clearly turning in his head at all times, which may have attributed to the uncomfortable stare-you knew he was thinking about you, and what he was capable of doing to you. Lucky for the two guards in back with him, he was cuffed at the wrists and ankles to prevent too much movement. The man spoke in a low, deep voice with a thick accent.

He was in for multiple murders. The first serial killer to stay on the E block at Cold Mountain for awhile. And easily the most brutal killer any of the prison guards-old and new-had seen in their tenure.

The truck came to a brief stop as the gates to the prison were wheeled open, allowing them to continue through. Once they reached the E block, they came to a final stop. The older man took the key out of the ignition, and nodded to the smaller passenger that it was time to get out.

"Finally," the younger man said, opening the door and sliding out of the vehicle. He straightened his hat and uniform, wanting to appear professional and imposing at all times. It was a difficult thing for him to do with such a small frame, and in the back of his mind, whether he admitted to it or not, he knew it. He walked around back to meet the older man and two other guards to guide the new inmate into the prison.

They opened the back doors, and stepped back, allowing the two guards to assist the new inmate out. He was all smiles. "Ah to travel, new places, always exciting, eh!"

"It'll be the last place you ever travel," the smaller man said matter-of-factly. "Ain't no coming back from the E block, friend."

The inmate looked at him, still grinning despite the man's morbid reminder of the impending death. "Ja! Hahaha how you would like if I hang you by your intestine small boy? Feel the wind on your insides? Is refreshing? Haha it will be game we play some day, when 'I coming back from E block!" The man threw back his head and laughed heartily, while the threatened guard just glared.

"Come on you filthy sack, move it!"

"Percy, calm down," the older man said, taking the inmate's other arm.

"I don't appreciate bein' threatened," Percy spat.

"Don't know many people who do," the older man said, thinking it a bit ironic that Percy, the one always threatening people with termination due to his connections, would say such a thing. Or perhaps it made perfect sense that someone who didn't like being threatened did it so much.

"Dead man walking!" Percy shouted, trying to build himself up again. "Got a dead man here!"

"Yes! Walking dead man! Who is he?" the German asked. "It is you when I eat your throat out alive, little boy!"

"Dead man!" Percy shouted as if to drown out the German's taunts. They entered the block finally, taking the inmate to his cell. The two other inmates, Delacroix and Bitterbuck, looked over the new addition to the block, sizing him up. The head officer stood outside a cell at the very end of the corridor, looking at the mess of a man being brought to him.

"Your name, sir?" he asked.

"Dionysus, god of wine and worldly pleasures!" he crowed. "I bow for you, but I am tied up!"

"What is your name, sir?" the officer repeated, in no mood for games.

"Ah, I tell you, then. Falken, is my name. Albrecht. Falken, you call me then," he replied.

"I am Paul Edgecombe, head officer of this block. This here is Brutus Howell, Harry Terwilliger, Dean Stanton, and Percy Wetmore. If you are in need of anything, within reason, you give a shout. Are we going to have any trouble with you or do we have an understanding?" Paul said.

"Oh, no, no troubles. Is good, understanding. I am understanding you Herr Edgecombe," Falken replied, smiling still. "We have nice time, good time, like when slicing throat of infants while still inside mother's stomach in beautiful state of Kentucky! Good time!"

Paul couldn't help but look bewildered at such a disgusting statement. He hadn't read the man's record yet, and was hoping this to be some sort of shocking act to intimidate. He was at a loss for words. "Well...then...Alright then." He closed the cell, and locked it.

"Dionysus promise good time, will have good time!" Falken called from his cell as the guards dispersed.

"The man is a lunatic," Harry said. "He's threatened Percy twice already since we came in here-"

"No big surprise there," Paul muttered under his breath.

"-And what he said to you just now, it's ridiculous!"

"Anyone got a record on him? I want to know what sort of man we're dealing with here," Paul said.

"He ain't so much a man, I reckon, as he is a monster," Dean said, handing Paul the record.

"That filthy bastard told me he was gonna hang me by my guts," Percy complained. "I ain't gonna hear all that for two weeks, you know."

"Quiet down, Percy, he's just trying to intimidate us," Paul replied, gritting his teeth at the pain from his urinary infection. "Why don't you go check and see if they need any help in the infirmary?"

"What? No, I think they got all the men they need," Percy replied.

"Percy, I don't care where you go as long as it is not here this very moment," Paul replied, irritated.

Percy looked ready to say something, probably about his connection to the governor, but thought better of it, and left.

"What a little brat," Brutus muttered.

Paul opened the folder, and began to read about the new inmate as he walked to the empty exercise yard to be alone.


	2. Chapter 2

The going's a little slow, and I'm trying my best to keep the dialog similar to what it was, as not a whole lot of that would change, but not a complete clone. The storyline should start to diverge from the original in a more noticeable manner fairly soon. I'm just going to be honest up front, and let you know the German was done by dictionary dot com's translator. If you care enough about proper German though, please feel free to fill me in so I can make it right. Feel free to leave a review too.

Killers

Two

Paul read on in disgust and horror. It was like something out of a horror book. There was no way this man could possibly exist. Dozens of murders were linked to him, and he was suspect in even more. Many, if not all, had been done with his bare hands. And those were just the ones the police knew about. Women, children, men, old, young-Falken certainly didn't discriminate. And he hadn't been lying about killing pregnant women in Kentucky. He'd killed some here in this very state, too. Paul hadn't seen an ounce of remorse in the man, either, just that stupid, doggish grin constantly plastered to his face, even as he spat out vulgar threats of bodily harm to the guards who spoke to him.

He closed the folder, setting it to the side. The day wasn't shaping up to be very good at all. The burning pain wasn't abating, the new inmate was utterly disgusting, and Percy was even more annoying than usual. Though, Paul couldn't help but feel a little bad for sending him off for whining about the threats-it seemed as though Falken wouldn't have a problem going through with them. But it isn't as though Percy knew about that.

"Hello Paul," came a familiar voice.

"Hal," Paul returned. "How are things?"

"Well, they're all right, I suppose. I'll be taking Melinda to another doctor soon for head x-rays...see if there's anything there they can find about her headaches..." Hal said morosely.

"I'm sure if they can find anything out, they'll be able to fix it," Paul replied.

Hal paused, and nodded. "Here," he said, handing Paul a few papers. "D.O.E. On Bitterbuck."

Paul took them, glancing quickly before looking back up to Hal. "Now I know you didn't come on down here just to give me these?"

"You're right. I got an angry call from the capitol today. Seems you ordered Percy off the mile?"

"I did," Paul said. That burning pain made itself known again.

"I am sure you had good reason, but, like it or not, the wife of the governor only has one nephew and his name is Percy Wetmore," Hal said. "So do your best to keep this sort of thing at a minimum."

"I will, sir, but the boy is mean, careless, and stupid, and liable to get himself or one of us hurt," Paul said.

"Well I have it on good authority that he's considering putting in an application for an administrative job at Briar Ridge. So you may not have to worry about him too much longer," Hal offered.

"Is that so? Why's he still here then, if he has all those people to pull strings for him?" There was a pause in the conversation, and Paul continued: "I think he just wants to see one fry up close."

"Maybe he will, then?" Hal suggested. Paul looked hesitant about it. "In the meantime, try to keep the peace."

"I will do my best," Paul replied.

The next evening, there was a visitor on the Mile. An unlikely one, in the form of a small brown mouse, entertaining the prison guards who sat at the desk, tossing him bits of food. They laughed as the mouse got even closer, closer than they'd seen any mouse get to a person.

"Isn't right for a mouse to come so close to people," Dean said. "What if he's rabid?"

"'Rabid', listen to you, mouse expert," Brutus said. "He ain't rabid, just hungry."

After finishing the scrap of food, the mouse scurried back down the Mile, slipping under the door of the restraint room.

"Oh, are we to catch dinner for ourselves here too mm?" asked Falken, who was squatting against his cell door, arm outstretched and hanging lazily through the bars, as if to catch the mouse.

"While our dining is not exactly fine, it's a bit better than mice, I reckon," Dean replied.

"You don' botta dat po' mouse," the Cajun inmate across the hall muttered. "He dun nuttin' to you."

Paul opened the door to the restraining room, revealing the furniture and paint cans and cleaning supplies inside. Whose idea it was to pile all of that in there was forgotten to Paul, but he wished he knew so he could chastise them for ever making him think it was a good one.

"Bet you he's making himself a nice little nest in there," Dean said.

"We'll catch him on his way out," Paul said. "You stand here by the door while we go in and look for him."

After nearly an hour or so of excavating the unused things, no mouse was to be found in the room. Paul and Brutus turned to look at Dean, who'd acquired a mop in the process to stop the rodent. "You let him get by you," Brutus accused.

"No I did not!" Dean said. "I been here the whole time, you seen me!"

"Ah ha then you fools lose my lunch," Falken said with a laugh. "You owe it to me now, big lunch. Maybe you, uh?" He pointed to Brute, grinning.

"You keep quiet," Paul couldn't help but snap.

"I guess at least all the commotion probably scared him off for good," Dean suggested.

"Yeah, we won't see him around again," Brutus said in agreement.

Yet the next day, the mouse was back, staring silently at Percy, who was combing his hair in the mirror. The mouse gave a shrill squeak, alerting everyone of its presence. Percy's comb stopped, mid-stroke, and Dean and Bill Dodge, one of the floaters, looked over the desk to the mouse. It sat, tail curled around its paws, staring at them.

"Well I'll be damned!"

"There's that mouse!" Dean exclaimed. "Surprised to see him back, that's for sure."

"Give him a bit of room, let's see what he does," Bill said, breaking off a bit of his food and tossing it to the mouse. Percy stared intently at the brown patch of fur, which was now sniffing at the bit of cracker he'd received. He ultimately left the little crumb alone, staring back up at the desk.

"Huh! Ain't never seen a mouse who refused some food!"

"Brave little bastard, gotta give him that," Dean remarked, taking another bit of cracker and tossing it to the mouse. This time, the mouse picked it right up, and nibbled away politely. Dean laughed. "He just knows a floater when he sees one!"

Then suddenly, the relative quiet was broken by a wild war cry, and a baton smashing to the ground where the mouse had just been. Dean and Bill jumped out of their seats in shock, watching Percy scramble after the mouse, jumping at it and stomping his entire way down the Mile.

"He's jus' a li'l mouse!" Delacroix screamed over Percy's shouts. "He ain't hurt nobody!"

"What a spectacle, _ja_? _Fantastisch fangfederblech von der Maus_(1)!" Falken cried.

Percy slammed into the restraining room door, pounding it with his fists. "Fuck!" he shouted angrily, and kicked the door again. He pulled his keys from his belt, looking for the right one. "I'll rip your diseased head off!"

"Live up to your word, _mein Freund_, is not good to make empty threats," Falked remarked.

"You shut your dirty mouth," Percy spat, not even looking at the man as he spoke. He managed to get the door open, and stared angrily at all the mess in the room. The two men at the desk watched as Percy tore apart the restraining room, emptying it of every last piece of furniture, bucket, and mop.

Eventually, Percy stood back from his work, his hair disheveled. He looked around the small padded room, confounded.

"Oh...you have made mistake, _Fangfederblech_, the prey has eluded you," Falken commented, leaning against his cell, arms through the bars, one hanging limply and the other extend to Percy as if he were trying to sympathize with him. "Maybe luck next time?" Delacroix chuckled from across the way.

"Didn't I tell you," Percy growled, "to shut the fuck up?!" Had he not wasted his baton on his initial assault of the mouse, he would likely have slammed it into Falken's exposed arms.

"Percy, you want to think about what you were doing here just now?" Dean said, stepping in before things could escalate.

"Trying to get that mouse! Are you blind?"

"And in the process, you scared myself, Bill, and the inmates," Dean replied.

"So?" Percy sneered. "They ain't in cradle-school, even if you all do feel the need to treat 'em that way most of the time."

"Prison or not, these men are under a considerable amount of strain. Men under strain snap, and somebody ends up hurt. You'd do well to try talking, not yelling. Think of it like an intensive care ward in a hospital," Dean suggested, channeling the wisdom of the head screw, Paul.

"I think of it," Percy said, "as a bucket of piss to drown rats in."

"Haha! Interesting choice for words! You are no good for that either!" Falken remarked, laughing.

Percy turned angrily at the German, and growled, "Stuff it, you smelly lugoon!"

"I do have to say," Bill started in an attempt to diffuse the tension, "that was a mighty fine aim you had there."

Percy turned back to the two guards, and considered what Bill had said. "Yeah," he said, running his hands through his hair again. "Yeah, it was. You know I was a pitcher in high school. Threw two no-hitters."

"I did not know that," Bill replied. "Ain't that something. Come on and give me a hand getting this stuff back in there, huh?"

Percy complied, continuing on about his short-lived pitching career, not realizing he'd been manipulated into helping clean up his own mess.

* * *

(1) I intend for that to mean "Fantastic catcher of the mouse."


	3. Chapter 3

I'm up to writing chapter sixteen! It starts picking up at about seven, I think. If you are interested, please leave a review? I'd like to know what you think of it!

Killers

Three

The night of Bitterbuck's execution, Paul and Percy had a brief talk in which Paul found out that he was correct in his earlier assumption-Percy was only sticking around so he could be up front for an execution. Most likely Delacroix's. He'd had it in for the Cajun man since he was brought in. Something or another about Del touching him, likely by accident. Ever since, the two had a bitterness towards each other, smirking at the other's misfortunes on the Mile. Percy wanted the last laugh, apparently. Paul wasn't so sure he agreed yet, but if it would get Percy to move onto his new job and off the Mile, he'd certainly give it some thought.

That next evening, however, brought the return of the mouse. Paul sat up in his chair, and turned the radio down behind him. The sound of giggling drifted down the corridor, and he was curious as to what there was to be giggling about down there. "Del?" he called, standing up. There was no reply. Paul looked to the others, and headed down the corridor. They followed, interested in what had happened. "Del?" Paul repeated, now standing outside his cell.

"I dun tame the mouse!" he crooned, still giggling, holding the brown mouse in his hands. "Lookit, I dun tame him!" They all stared on. "Watch how he do!" He held the mouse out at arms-length, and it crawled all the way from one hand to the other, Del laughing the whole time. "Mr. Jingles a smart mouse, he is."

"Delightful!" Falken cried from across the way. "Remarkable! Fantastic! Is good Herr Wetmore not kill him then, eh? Such wonderful tricks he does!"

"Mr. Jingles?" Paul asked.

"I'd have called him Steamboat Willy," Brutus muttered.

"Dat his name, he dun whispered into my ear," Del replied simply. "Mr. Jingles, he need a box to sleep himself in. Can he have one, boss?"

"I notice your English is better when you want something," Paul remarked.

"Got a new friend there, Del?" Percy asked, looking at the mouse. Del scooped him up, as if to protect him from the would-be mouse killer, muttering something defiant about not hurting Mr. Jingles under his breath. "Is that really the one I was trying to kill, like that nut says?"

"The very same," Paul replied. "Says his name is Mr. Jingles. Thinks he needs a box to sleep in. What do you say to that, Percy?"

Percy stood silent for a minute, watching the mouse intently. Paul held his breath, sure that Percy was going to do something to upset Delacroix. "You know what I think," he replied, "I seen Toot with an old cigar box on that cart of his. I bet that'd make him a nice home. I don't know if he'd give it away though, maybe make you pay a nickel or so for it."

Del looked distrustful still, but replied, "I only got fo' pennies."

"I tell you what, if you get that old gink to sell his box to you for four pennies, I'll even sneak you out some cotton balls to line it with, make him a regular Mousie Hilton." Percy turned from the suspicious Cajun to Paul. "I'm supposed to write up a switch-room report on Bitterbuck...Are there some pens in your office?"

Paul nodded. "Forms, too."

"That's just fine," Percy said with a nod. With that, he walked off, leaving the others to stare on in confusion.


	4. Chapter 4

I've written the story all the way up through chapter twenty-two...I guess that isn't a whole lot to brag about, since some of the chapters don't even span a whole two pages. But it certainly picks up soon. Leave me a review and tell me what you think!

Killers

Four

"William! Wharton!" Harry said loudly to the blank face before him. There was no reaction, just a stare and a gaping maw, drool dribbling out slowly. Harry shook his head. He tried to hand the man his prison clothes, but he wouldn't-or couldn't-hold onto them. Harry turned to the other two guards. "We're going to have to do this ourselves."

After trying to convince the court that his epileptic fits were what caused him to murder, Billy "the Kid" Wharton had been sent to the hospital for some tests to alleviate any suspicions that it might actually be true(though no one believed his little seizures for a minute). He'd been declared competent. The guards had been warned that Wharton was a real troublemaker, and to be careful around him.

Harry and Dean assisted the doped up man in getting dressed, while Percy just grinned in his face. "Some hellraiser he is. Looks more like a limp noodle to me," he remarked.

"C'mon, Percy, give us a hand here?" Harry asked.

Percy laughed, and helped steady the man while they put on his pants. The three had to guide Wharton through the halls and down to the truck, where he was lead to the back of the back, along with Dean. Harry and Percy took their seats up front.

The ride back was quiet. Upon reaching the E block, they guided Wharton out of the truck and up the stairs. "Man's doped up to the gills," Harry said loudly as they entered so Paul could hear.

"Nein!" came a cry from afar. "I smell no such things on him from here..."

"Now just what the hell do you know-" Percy started, stepping in front of Wharton to address the German when he was cut off by a whooping Rebel yell, and slammed face first into the brick wall. He went down, startled and dazed.

"I tell you, mm?" Falken said nonchalantly.

Wharton wrapped the chains of his cuffs around Dean's neck tightly, causing him to sputter and cough. "Whoooo-ee we gonna have us some fun in her'!" he cried goofily. Harry jumped on Wharton's back, punching him on the side of his head. He was ejected onto the desk. Paul rushed to their aid, obviously looking ill and feverish. Even Wharton wasn't too stupid to notice, and kneed him in the groin. Paul doubled over from the pain.

"Now ain't this a little party!" Wharton hollered. Paul drew his revolver, pointing it in Wharton's direction.

"Let him go, now!"

"You go on an' shoot me! See who ya hit!" Wharton said, popping up and down from behind Dean's head. His face was changing colors now. Paul looked desperately around for help. Harry was sprawled across the desk, trying to climb his way back over to Dean's aid, and Percy was only semi-conscious on the floor.

And then, an imposing figure appeared in the doorway, drawing his baton, and slamming Wharton in the back of the head with it. He fell, allowing Dean to escape from his grasp, putting his hands to his bruised throat. "Ya big fucker...ya snuck up on me..." Wharton managed to spit out before falling quietly to the ground.

Paul glared at Harry, looking for an explanation as to why Wharton's cuffs were allowed to be loose enough to be wrapped around Dean's throat, and how they let the boy catch them off guard. "We...All of us thought he was doped!"

"And not a one of you thought to ask?" Paul demanded angrily. "Guess you won't be making that mistake anytime soon!" Paul grabbed Wharton by his feet. "Get his arms, Brute." The two towed the inanimate body to the open cell near them, tossing him uncaringly on the bunk.

"Dionysus tell you, Herr Edgecomb, no smells on this man for drugs..." Falken said exasperatedly. "But don't listen to me by all means! Is not a problem for me!" He cackled loudly.

"Shut up in there," Paul demanded. "Or you'll spend your day in solitary confinement."

Paul slammed the cell door shut, and locked it. "All right, Brute, you get Percy and Dean down to the infirmary. Harry, I want you to write up a report for the warden for me."

"What about you, Paul? You don't look so well," Brutus remarked.

"Is problems in the netherlands ah hahaha!" Falken shouted, highly amused with himself.

"He goes in solitary when you get back," Paul said breathlessly. "Till then, I got the Mile."

Brutus looked unsure, but nodded, heading over to get Percy on his feet. "All right, Percy, get up," he said, shaking him roughly.

"God damn if my head don't hurt..." he muttered under his breath as he climbed to his feet, using the brick wall for assistance, eyes wide. The three left out of the still-open door, closing it behind them.

Paul sank to the floor, holding himself in pain.

"You should see doctor, Herr Edgecombe. I promise is good, fix you right up."

"I just may, Albrecht," Paul muttered, "I just may."


	5. Chapter 5

So I've finished writing the story. There are twenty-six chapters, the longest one being about four pages. Thanks for reading, and reviewing, too!

Killers

Five

The next day, Paul took sick leave to go to his doctor in hopes of getting rid of his infection. That left the Mile to Dean, Harry, Percy, and Brute. Dean and Percy both turned out fine from their run in with Billy the Kid, as he called himself, save for a few bruises. Dean was more hurt than Percy, with his voice rasping terribly when he spoke, and sporting a ring of nasty bruises around his neck.

It was a little before lunch when Harry was conducting his cell checks that the trouble with Billy began again. He urinated through the bars and onto Harry's shoes, causing the man to stumble back, bewildered. Billy hopped up on his bed, laughing the entire time. "I got ya good din't I? Hahaha! I am...currently cookin' up some turds, nice soft ones, 'n I'll have 'em out to ya tomorra'!" He cackled on some more.

Falken looked on in disgust from down the hall. "Uncultured nut..." he muttered. "Stupid man." A few other select words in his native tongue.

"'Ay! Whatchoo sayin' down there, boy? I'll knock yer ass back to France little faggot!" Wharton shouted.

"Haha! I come from Germany, stupid boy. I will rip out your stomach and make you eat it do you continue with your..._Verleumdung_!(1)"

"Shut up, the both of you!" Brute ordered.

Wharton took that as a challenge, not a command. "Whatcha' gon' do about it if I don't then, uh?"

Brute looked at Harry, and nodded to the room at the end of the corridor. The restraint room. No one had made use of it yet, even though plenty of threats had been made. "Maybe we oughta clean that room out one more time. Been awhile since it's seen some real use," he said.

"Reckon it has," Dean put in hoarsely, rubbing his throat.

"Percy!" Brute called. "You get on out here and help us out, huh?"

Percy sauntered into the room from one of the offices, irritated at the disturbance. "With what?"

No one answered, they just headed to the restraint room. Percy followed, curious now. Brutus unlocked the door, and began pulling things out, handing them to the three other guards behind him. "Find a place for all this junk." So they did, over the course of about an hour, while Wharton and Falken put in their own comments, watching them.

The last of the stuff was trotted out. Brutus grabbed up the straitjacket that now lay on the ground, and headed for Billy's cell. Wharton noticed the jacket immediately, and laughed. "Y'know you can come in here on yer legs, but you'll go out on yer backs..." He stood up. "Billy the Kid's gonna garun-tee ya that."

Just as Brute opened up the cell, he stepped to the side, giving Wharton a split second view of Harry holding a high-pressure hose. He turned it on, and Wharton slammed back into the cell wall, screaming and kicking and punching at the merciless stream of water. Dean stood next to Brute, ready to help get the straight jacket on, and Percy waited by the restraint room, trying to stay out of the way while still getting a view of the action. He hadn't yet learned the number one rule of prisons-don't stand near the bars. While the others were distracted with wrangling Billy the Kid, Falken grabbed Percy by his throat, pulling him up to the bars. He clamped a hand down over his mouth, and held him tightly by his hair with the other. Percy started to scream but couldn't be heard over Wharton and the water.

"I say I would eat your throat, so I live to my word huh?" Falken said quietly. Percy kicked at the bars trying to make more noise or be seen, and fumbled with his sidearm at the same time. Falken pulled him closer, and bit right down on Percy's neck, causing him to scream even louder.

That got noticed. Del shifted his gaze from the fiasco down the hall to the one happening across from him. His eyes got wide, but he grinned at Percy. "Dat big boss man there Mr. Jingles, make stupid mistake like that," he whispered to the mouse on his shoulder.

"Percy!" Harry and Dean rushed to Percy while Brute dragged a semi-conscious Wharton down the hall, tossing him in the restraint room and slamming the door shut without a second thought. Harry was trying to pry Falken from Percy's throat while Dean drew his revolver and aimed it right at the German's head. Percy cried out loudly as Falken pulled back roughly, easily taking a bit of flesh and tissue with him. With one hard tug, Brute pulled Percy away from the feral inmate. Percy stumbled back, holding onto his neck, panting hard. Blood seeped onto his white shirt and soaked into the blue jacket. "You crazy cannibal fuck!" he screeched.

Falken grinned back, blood smeared on his face. He held his hands up. "I tell you. Give fair warning, ja? Try to always be man of word, did not work so well here. I get you soon."

"You, keep it quiet! You're next in line for that little dark room, you hear?" Brute growled.

Falken laughed. "Silly ape. Not scared of dark rooms, what a silly thing!" He laid back on his bunk as though it was all a funny joke, not another murder attempt.

"Percy, are you okay?" Harry asked.

"I can't wait to see that faggot fry," he growled. "What I wouldn't do to flip the switch myself!"

"Settle down," Brute said. "Get to the infirmary. Who knows how long it's been since that guy's brushed his god damned teeth."

Percy scowled, holding his hand against his neck, and marched out of the room.

Brute sighed. "Paul's gonna love this..."

* * *

(1)Verleumdung-I intended for this to mean something along the lines of "slander".


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks again for reading! Drop me a line and tell me what you think!

Killers

Six

Brutus had to fill Paul in on the events of the preceding day, given the new violent turn taken by the recently all-talk German in the corner. Brute was a man of his word, and had given Falken a turn in isolation all night after Billy got out. Paul sighed angrily, not in the mood for any of it, with the pills he had to take for his infection tearing into his stomach, and the burning pain still hanging around in his crotch. "Didn't anybody tell that little idiot to never stand near the bars?" Paul said. "You'd think it common knowledge."

"You would," Brute agreed. "He's lucky we noticed when we did, I think that man would've chewed his throat out like he promised if we didn't."

Paul shook his head. "Well today is his big day so maybe he'll be in better spirits." A morbid way to look at it, but that's how Percy was, Paul decided.

As if to answer his question, Percy chose that very moment to make his appearance. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Paul looked him over, slightly concerned. After all, he didn't want someone throwing up in front of all the witnesses before the execution even started. Or at all, really, and Percy looked about ready to do so. "Are you all right?"

"Just dandy," Percy replied, not sounding the part.

"You look terrible, Percy," Brutus replied.

"Couldn't sleep, is all," Percy muttered, rubbing at his neck. The wound was hidden beneath the collar of his white work shirt.

"You up for it then?" Paul asked. 'It' being the rehearsal and Del's actual execution.

"I'll do just fine, or I like to think so, anyway," Percy replied, walking off. Paul thought it a little strange for Percy to actually show such an insecurity, but chalked it up to his tiredness. Must be exhausting to be such a little shit all the time, anyway.

Once Paul told Del all about the 'important people' here to see him and Mr. Jingles perform, the rehearsal began. Toot, the old trusty who usually pushed his little cart around, came in and sat down on Del's bunk. Paul stood in the doorway, and said, "Eduard Delacroix, step forward." Toot did so, repeating his instructions out loud as he did so.

They walked the Mile, all the way up until they reached the execution room where Percy stood ready by the electric chair. Toot took his seat in the chair, and they began fastening the clamps and belts. Percy put the dry sponge on Toot's head while Harry fastened the cap. He turned on his heel and stood before the chair. "Roll on one," he announced evenly. He paused, and then continued. "Eduard Delacroix, you have been condemned to die by a jury of your peers..." He recalled the words fairly easily, as there weren't many to say. "Roll on two."

And it was done. Percy looked to Paul for approval. After a moment's consideration, he nodded. "Very good, professional."

Percy managed a slight grin, almost a genuine smile.

The group headed back to the Mile, just in time to meet Del coming in, laughing and clapping. "They love Mr. Jingles! They laugh and cheer and clap they hands!" he said with a smile.

"That's just aces," Percy said with a smile. Del regarded him suspiciously, unsure of what was going on. Percy continued, as if to reassure Del of his sincerity. "I'm happy for you," he added. Del cocked his head to the side, looking from Brute to Paul and back at Percy, who was laughing. A smile slowly spread on Del's face, which gave way to laughter.

And then, Percy ruined it for himself, stepping forward abruptly and grabbing at the short Cajun man, baring his teeth at him as some sort of joke. Del stumbled back and fell to the floor, Mr. Jingles flying out of the little cigar box.

"Percy, you shit," Brute growled, helping Del up to his feet, glaring at Percy.

"Aw, now, come on, I didn't mean nothing by it Del! I was just playing!" he said, ready to apologize when he made the same mistake he had earlier, and drifted too close to the bars of the cells. This time, Wharton seized the opportunity and wrapped an arm around Percy's throat. None of the guards had noticed, but Wharton had been watching all of them the entire time, paying close attention for an opportunity like the one he'd just been offered. He didn't like being out of the center of attention.

"Wharton!" Paul shouted in warning, drawing his revolver.

"Ain't you sweet," Wharton whispered, kissing Percy's ear and patting his head. He moved his hand down, grabbing the guard's crotch. Percy squealed in fear and tried to wriggle out of the convict's grasp. "Like a girl. I reckon I rather fuck your asshole than your sister's pussy, I tell you."

"Hahaha stupid little boy!" Falken laughed from his cell. "Twice now, is stupid mistake."

"Wharton I will not hesitate to fire if you do not let him go now!" Paul demanded.

Billy let go, throwing up his arms in defeat, laughing the whole time. Percy shot across the Mile, settling against an empty cell. "I didn't mean nothing by it! I was just playin'!" he said, mocking Percy. "Yer noodle ain't limp at all, lover boy, I think you sweet on ol' Billy the Kid!" Percy's brow furrowed in confusion, his face flushed red from embarrassment. Del and Falken were both cackling. "...But smell you!"

"He dun piss his pants hahaha!" Del cried. "Lookit what dat big man dun! He talk real big, _mais oui _some_ mauvais homme,_ den when someone touch him he make a water in his pants like a baby!" True enough, there was a stain on the front of his blue uniform pants.

"Oh such a smell little boy!" Falken added in. "Did mother not train little baby for using toilet?"

Brute shoved Del into his cell. "Learn when to shut up," he growled. "The both of you."

Paul put a hand on Percy's shoulder. He stood up straight, abruptly, jerking out of Paul's reach. "If any of you tell this to anyone, I'll have you fired," he said, pure hatred and rage in his eyes. "I swear it to God." He stormed off, out of sight.

It was later that night when Percy got his 'revenge' on Del. Though whether it was so deserved is debatable, or so the other guards thought. Paul and Brute were trying to figure out what Del wanted to do with Mr. Jingles after his execution. Brute was in the middle of spinning a tale about Mouseville, where Mr. Jingles would spend his days as a circus mouse. Brute did have a knack for little stories like that, Paul figured, and even though it was a little ridiculous, Del was desperate enough to believe it.

A little overzealous, Del tossed Mr. Jingles' colorful wooden spool too hard, and it bounced out of the cell and onto the Mile. When the mouse shout out to fetch the spool, it didn't take into account that Percy would be there to stomp it into oblivion.

Del and the others heard the crunch before they saw Percy standing there, looking down at the mess of blood and fur. Del let out an anguished howl, and screamed, "You fucking cruel bastard!"

"I knew I'd get him eventually," Percy said smoothly. "Was just a matter of time, really."

With that, he strolled off, content with himself. After doing what they could to calm Del down, they headed after Percy, who was in the storage room. He was picking up a cloth to start touching up the electric chair. "Don't start," Percy muttered, not looking at either of them. He took in a deep breath before turning to face them. "It was just a mouse. Didn't belong here to begin with, and he'll be dead soon anyway."

"It's not about the mouse, Percy, it's about keeping the prisoners calm," Paul said angrily.

Percy nodded, and said, "Yeah, you do a real good job about that, with two of 'em grabbin' me from their cells and lettin' the other ones have a good laugh about it!"

"If you don't want to be assaulted try not standing next to their god damn cells!" Brute shouted.

Percy didn't have a retort for that.

"I want your word that you'll put in your application at Briar Ridge if I put you out front for Del tonight," Paul said simply. "Very next day."

Percy considered it. After a bit of hesitation, he replied, tired and beat. "Fine. You have my word." He figured he'd take the chance to split after he got to see Del die. He didn't like any of these people, anyway.

Paul put out his hand, and Percy looked at it. "You make a promise, you shake a man's hand," Paul reminded him. So Percy did.


	7. Chapter 7

Killers

Seven

Percy was a little nervous. He had a plan, and he didn't want to get caught, or blamed for it. Being out front was making him jittery, and knowing he hadn't slept well the night before made it worse. He ran his hands through his hair, wanting to look perfect. The witnesses began to file in slowly, and he watched the clock intently, standing up straight with his hands behind his back.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Paul and Brute guided Del through the door. Percy was somewhat pleased with himself at the face Del made when he realized Percy would be running the show this time.

Once Del was strapped in, Percy went over the lines. Del sputtered through his last words, apologizing for his crimes. He'd accidentally killed half a dozen people by burning them alive after raping a girl and trying to get rid of the evidence. "Don' forget 'bout Mouseville, Boss Edgecomb," he whispered to Paul.

"Hey," Percy whispered. Del reluctantly looked up at him, fearing for the worst. "There's no such place. These guys just made it up to keep you quiet. Just thought you should know, faggot." Del was obviously crushed, but Percy didn't get much time to enjoy his reaction as Harry rolled the hood over Del's face, glaring at Percy the entire time.

Percy stepped over to the sponge, picked it up and...held it over the bucket, not dipping it into the water. He knew he was supposed to, but Del didn't deserve that luxury, he felt.

He cupped it in his hands, and held it on Del's bald head while Harry clamped down the cap. Percy stepped before Del again, and announced, "Eduard Delacroix, electricity shall now pass through your body, in accordance with state law. May God have mercy on your soul." He paused, glancing back and forth from the clock to the other guards. He noticed Paul staring intently at the floor, near the bucket.

He knew.

Just as Paul opened his mouth, Percy said loudly, "Roll on two!" Paul shot him a look, completely bewildered. Percy only stared back blankly. The switch had been flipped. It was too late to do anything about it now.

Del jittered and shook, throwing himself against the restraints. Smoke soon began to pour out from under the cap, the smell of the burning sponge and hair filling the room. Del was screaming. Percy watched as Brute and Paul exchanged a few words, satisfied with himself. He'd show Del what you got for laughing at Percy Wetmore. And he'd show Paul and Brute what you got for threatening him.

The mask suddenly caught fire, and Percy stepped back. The witnesses gasped, murmuring at the sight. They were talking amongst themselves, wondering if things were going as they normally did.

Del's eyes were melting. Percy could see them clearly through the mask, white little globs oozing from their sockets. He wanted to look away, but couldn't. He was rooted to the spot, still in his rigid stance, just watching. Part of him still enjoyed it, even when the rest of him knew he shouldn't.

Del's screaming intensified. His face had been mostly burned off by now, and flames were starting to explode from his torso. The horrified witnesses were amassed at the locked doors, trying to force their way out. The smell of charred flesh filled the room. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. The rest of him was horrified, demanding that he look away, or at least stop smiling! But he was enjoying the show too much.

Finally, Del stopped screaming, and his body buzzed quietly. It was over.

"Kill it!" Paul shouted.

Hal tried to calm the crowd down, passing off some half-assed explanation about the thunderstorm causing the problem, and that everything was fine. Del slumped down in the chair, flames still flickering about his face and torso. Percy still stared, and was startled when Brute slammed the chemical extinguisher into his hands.

"You put it out. You're runnin' this show, ain't you?" he spat.

"I like to think I am," he muttered back, and turned the foam onto Del's charred body.

"I didn't know the sponge was supposed to be wet," Percy muttered, looking at the other angry guards sheepishly. "It never was when we practiced..."

Brute was having none of that, though. He punched Percy right in the face. He stumbled back, growling and gritting his teeth at Brute. He leaped back at Brute, getting him against a wall and managing a blow or two before being shoved back easily to the floor. At this point Paul stepped between them, trying to get a handle on the situation.

"What in the hell was that?!" came a new voice.

"An execution, Hal," Paul replied.

"Three witnesses puked all over the floor up there! And that smell...I don't think that smell will ever be gone for good! What happened?!" Everyone looked down at Percy on the floor, still laying on his back.

"I didn't know the sponge should be wet," he replied again, pushing himself to a sitting position.

Hal sneered. "Oh for fuck's sake. How long you spend pissing on the toilet seat before you put it up?"

"He fucked up, plain and simple," Paul said. "But he is transferring over to Briar Ridge tomorrow."

Hal looked down at Percy, and said, "I expect that application on my desk soon. I want you out of here as quick as possible."

Percy nodded silently. Hal left back up the staircase. Brute and Harry wheeled Del's corpse away. "Come on, Percy, on your feet," Paul said, pulling him up to a standing position. He studied Percy's pale face, feeling worried and enraged at the same time. What did he have to worry about this little bastard for? He'd just put someone through a horrible death, willingly, and enjoyed it, made him and the rest of the block look bad, and gotten them all in a mess. He shouldn't be worried about Percy at all. But he was, just a little. Just the humane way to feel, he figured.

The way he swayed back and forth on his legs, his darkened eyes, pale and sweaty skin...Percy just looked plain out of it. "You feel okay?"

Percy's eyes drifted up to Paul's. He went to open his mouth to reply, and instead just grinned before walking up the stairs, steadying himself against the wall with his hands and taking the steps one by one. Paul shook his head, sighed, and followed.


	8. Chapter 8

I don't know if the hours mentioned here for the shifts are right. I know they were specified in the book, but I couldn't find it when I went to look for it. Thanks for reading/reviewing. Things are about to get strange here!

Killers

Eight

Paul and Brutal were always on the night shift. Dean, Harry, and, regretfully so, Percy were usually, but had their time with the day shift, too. The shift started at nine and lasted nine hours, until six in the morning. From there, day shift one picked up, and after that, shift two. Everyone was fairly prompt, Paul had noticed and appreciated that. However, tonight, it was nearing ten and Percy hadn't shown up yet. He was an hour late. Paul normally wouldn't have minded at all, to be missing that particular member of the night shift, but he wanted that application put in as soon as possible. Anything to get rid of him.

"Oh that stench of burnt flesh!" Falken cried out. "Intoxicating! Will be long time to take that away huh?"

"I reckon it will," Paul replied, ignoring how Falken had exclaimed those things with relish, not disgust. "What is it with you and that nose of yours?"

Falken grinned at him from his cell. Not that Paul could see him well enough to notice. "Is gift. Long time ago, it was, back in Germany. Year maybe...1652?"

Paul looked up, confused. "I don't think you've got that right," he said. "You'd be nearly three hundred years old."

"Ja vol! Is true, is true. Part of gift, live longer, heal faster, not get sick so much. Only can die with bullet to brain!" He laughed out loud to himself. "So we will have fun with this, 'electrical chair'."

"Whatcha' on about, Frenchie?" Wharton shouted out. "You always got that stupid grin on yer face."

"Is good, be happy. Make for live longer too, is what they say. You though, I would take your lips off your stupid face, huh? Give it to pretty girl ah hahaha! She like for present, I think," Falken said with a laugh.

"You just one crazy motherfucker, aintchoo?" Wharton replied.

"All right, that's enough," Paul said before the two began some kind of perverse pissing match.

The next few hours passed by mostly quiet. The four guards present talked a bit, occasionally having to tell one of the inmates to shut up or mind their business. It was around midnight or so when Percy came through the door from the exercise yard, looking even worse than yesterday. His hair hadn't been combed back like usual. If there was one thing Percy was consistent in, it was keeping up appearances. He held a paper in his shaking hand, and laid it down on the desk that the four guards were sitting at, almost disrupting a game of rummy.

"My application," he said simply, looking Paul in the face.

"You look real bad Percy, maybe you should see a doctor," Dean said.

He sneered. "Like any of you give a shit."

"Well, if you have to act like that," Paul said.

"Go on, limp noodle, go see you a doctor!" Wharton called. "That purty little face a'yours ain't looking so purty no more!"

At that, Percy stopped, and turned. He stared Wharton down, as if sizing him up, thinking of how he could inflict the most pain on him as quickly as possible.

"Come on, now, Percy, he ain't worth the trouble, and he's been mostly quiet for awhile now. Let's not spoil that," Paul said. "Wharton you open your mouth again tonight, you'll be back in solitary, I promise you that."

Wharton chuckled and sauntered back to his bunk.

"Percy, why don't you have a seat?" Harry offered. "Sit awhile."

He turned back around to the others, taking off his hat. He sat down in an empty chair near the desk, tossing his hat at his feet. "I don't think-" he started, and then stopped to lick his dry lips. "I don't think I am feeling so well."

Everything began to look sharper in his eyes, like somebody adjusting a fuzzy picture on a movie. He felt like he wasn't there, looking down at his hands like they were someone else's. He started shaking harder. Then, he dredged up all the contents of his stomach, and then some, puking on the green floor.

"Oh god!"

"Damnit Percy!"

Everyone stood up quickly. Paul reached out to grab Percy, who was ready to fall face first in his own vomit. He grabbed him by the collar of his blue coat. "Get a mop and bucket," Paul said. Dean obliged, going to fill the bucket up with water. Percy hung limp, completely immobile in Paul's grip.

"Why'd he even bother showin' up at all," Brute muttered irritatedly.

"He was living up to his word," Paul remarked. "Bringing in his application, just as he promised. Least he made good on that."

Suddenly, Percy sat up straight, panting, eyes wide and face contorted in pain. Paul let go of him, brow furrowed in confusion. "Oh god," Percy whimpered. "Oh fuck." He clutched the sides of his head, squeezing his eyes tight before letting out a pained howl.

"What the hell?"

His fingers elongated first. They could hear the bones stretching and cracking as it happened. The hair on the back of his hands thickened, and new hair began to grow, like brown fur, almost. His face was still twisted in pain before a dog-like snout formed out of his nose and mouth. His eyes turned an alarming yellow, and he fell out of the chair onto his knees. His ears changed, getting bigger and moving up higher on his now wolf-like head. He grew larger. The seams of his shirt and jacket could be heard snapping apart. He tore at the clothing with clawed hands and fangs, growling ferociously as he did.

"Jesus Christ!" Paul cried out.

"He's the god damned Wolf-Man!" Brute shouted in disbelief.

"What the hell do we do Paul?!" Dean cried.

Paul realized he had no idea what to do. "Well, Dean, your guess is as good as mine!"


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks for reading and reviewing.

Killers

Nine

What had once been Percy stood on all fours, hunched over, sniffing the air. The four terrified guards seemed to think that maybe if they didn't move, the beastly thing wouldn't come after them.

"Boy, what's all that ruckus you makin'?" Wharton called out, jumping to the bars of his cell, straining to see around the corner. "Did he fall down dead? Be like Christmas Day for ol' Billy the Kid if he did!"

No one replied. At least, not in words.

The monster's head snapped up at the sound, ears pricked up, growling the whole time. It turned the corner in a hurry, coming right up to Wharton's cell. The tow-headed boy stared in surprise before crying out some profanities and jumping back from the bars as the wolfish thing jumped at him. One arm held onto one of the bars while the other shot into the cell, reaching for Wharton. It snarled and growled, saliva spilling over its jaw.

"What the fuck kinda circus you dipshits runnin' in her'?!" Wharton screamed, pressed as far back against the wall as he could. "You fuckers gonna do sumthin' about this?!"

"Big man scared of wolfie?" Falken mocked, still laughing. "You behind bars, he can't reach you stupid man!"

While the wolf was distracted with trying to mangle Wharton through the bars, the guards were trying to think of what to do about it.

"Somebody shoot it!" Harry suggested.

"But it's Percy!" Paul snapped. "What if it's still Percy?!"

"No skin off my nose if I don't have to see that boy 'round here again to get away from that thing!" Brutal hissed.

"Murder is murder, you wanna end up on the other side of those bars?!" Paul shot back, groin and stomach both burning up in pain.

"We sure as hell can't let it off the block," Dean whispered, afraid it would hear him.

"Then I say we save ourselves and lock it in!"

"That's it," Paul said suddenly. "Get it in one of the cells. We'll lock it in, and call somebody up about it to get it taken away."

"How're we going to do that?" Dean asked.

"Somebody's gotta be the bait," Brutal said.

"Now I don't like this idea so much," Harry replied.

"You got any better suggestions?" Paul said. "If we let it off the block, whatever it does to somebody out there, that's on our consciences! Besides, even if we make a break for it, ten bucks says it chases us down one by one, and I'll leave the rest up to your imagination. I say if we can get it in a cell, we get it in a cell. Besides, it doesn't look too bright. Just stand in front of one of the open cells, and hell I bet it lunges right at you, so you step out of the way, and get the door closed and locked before it realizes what's happened."

Harry was the reluctant volunteer, being that he was the quickest there. Brutal would be needed to get the cell door slid shut and help keep it shut if the thing wasn't as dumb as they thought. Paul and Dean would get the locks done as fast as possible, handguns ready if it got hold of Harry.

Harry tip-toed right up to the open cell across from Wharton's. The monster was still too concerned with the screaming and scared prey in the cell to notice them sneaking behind it, until Harry called out to it. "Hey! Hey you ugly furbag, I'm talkin' to you!" he shouted over the noise.

It stopped suddenly, jerking back from the cell to look at Harry. It growled lowly.

"Yeah, that's right! I'm talkin' to you!" he shouted again.

The monster let go of Wharton's cell, and turned around completely, baring its big fangs. Then, it lunged! Harry ducked and rolled to the side as fast as he could, seeing a brown cloud sail right over him. Brutal slammed the cell door shut, and Paul and Dean quickly got their keys in the locks, all before the monster could turn around.

Harry was sitting on the floor of the Mile, in a daze. "I tell ya," he said slowly. "I don't think I'm getting paid enough for this."

The monster growled and threw itself against the bars, reaching out at them in anger and frustration. Its reach was longer than that of a normal person, but only by a hand or so.

Paul immediately headed down to the last cell on the left-Falken's.

"You," he said. "You were talking about this. You knew what was going to happen."

"Mm, yes, maybe, why?"

"How'd you know all this?" Paul asked impatiently. "And what happened to Percy?"

"I know because I do. I tell you, 1652, but no listening, no understanding from you, hm?" Falken replied. "And Herr Wetmore...he doesn't go anywhere. He still there, you lock him up."

"That thing is Percy, then?" Dean asked.

"Somebody let his inner beauty out, be my guess," Brutal muttered.

Falken laughed. "No no no, Dionysus intend to kill and only wound, is happen sometimes. Mean to rip out throat with teeth, but, was interrupted you know? So he get gift, so undeserving, stupid boy."

"You call that a gift?" Paul asked in disbelief.

"Why not gift? Long life, is good! Stronger, faster, stay healthy," Falken said. "All things Herr Wetmore not deserve."

"It's like a god damn werewolf," Dean commented.

"'Werewolf'," Falken said slowly, only it came out 'vair-volf', due to his accent. "Mm, yes, that is how you say I guess, for one who become wolf-man with the moon."

"I thought the story went like it only happened on full moons?" Dean replied.

"Ah, no, you see that's why it story, not fact. Every night it will happen, as long as there is any moonlight."

"Wait then," Harry said, not really wanting to go along with any of it but finding it a bit difficult to be a skeptic when there was a mythical monster locked in a cell a few feet away. "If you mean you're one of these...werewolves, why haven't you changed at night then?"

Falken's doggish grin resurfaced. "I control it. Three hundred years, long time to live, long time with gift to learn it. So I boss now, I tell when to change and when not."

"You can't be three hundred years old," Brutal said.

"Brute, not more than ten minutes ago I would've told you there's no way whiny, sniveling, dumb Percy Wetmore would turn into a wolf-man right there on the Mile, yet here we are," Paul said. "So maybe there's something to this nut's story."

"Maybe it's a dream," Brute replied. "Yeah, that's it. None of you are here, and this is just a dream." Paul reached out and pinched Brutal on the back of his neck. "Ow! What was that for?!"

"You still see that wolf in there?"

Brute looked back down the Mile at the snarling brown beast, then back at Paul, confused. "Yes?"

"Well then it's not a dream!" Paul shouted. "It's right there!" He paused, closing his eyes, giving himself a few seconds to calm down. "All right. Here's what we'll do. I'm going to get all of Percy's shifts switched over to day time, least until his transfer goes through, so we won't have this problem on our hands. What he does in his home on his own time is not any of our business, so if he turns into that thing again, I know none of us are hurt, his well-being is not my burden, and neither is that of anyone else's in the prison. No one will believe us if we tell them, unless they see it. But I doubt Warden Moores wants to turn the E Block into a damn circus. I will speak about it with him in private, so we can go about this situation in a smoother way." He paused again, and looked worried. "He is going to turn back again, isn't he?"

"With light of dawn," Falken replied. "He go back to silly little boy. If I had choice, wolf and little boy body, I take wolf one all times. But he stupid, vain one, won't appreciate. So undeserving." He rambled on in this way for several more minutes, ignoring everyone else.

"So in the meantime, what will we do?" Harry asked. "If someone comes in, they're going to notice...that." He motioned with his hands in the direction of the werewolf.

"It's almost midnight. How often does anyone come 'round the E block so late at night?" Paul replied.

"What if he doesn't turn back?" Dean said worriedly.

"We'll just chew that food when we come to it."


	10. Chapter 10

Thank you for the reviews! Glad you're enjoying it. I thought it would be a little too far-fetched for green mile fanfiction, but I'm glad to see you guys like it. Thanks again for reading!

Killers

Ten

It was nearing the end of the shift, and the four men were starting to get worried. The werewolf hadn't turned back into Percy yet. It was pacing in its cell, hunched over. It was bigger than Brutal, when it stood up right, they'd determined. Quite a growth spurt from Percy's normal five-feet, six-inches. It'd settled down when it realized it couldn't get out. It knew that much, whether that was some part of Percy's human mind recalling what a jail cell was, or the thing just finally giving up after hours of biting and scratching and howling. They'd watched it nearly the whole night, like spectators in a circus.

Wharton had kept quiet the rest of the night, falling asleep when the wolf had stopped struggling with its impossible escape attempts. Falken had long since gone to sleep, causing no more trouble the rest of the night.

"Are we to report this, you think, Paul?" Harry asked.

"Depends on whether or not we see Percy before the next shift shows up," Paul replied. "If they see it, we may as well report it. Make an interesting news article, I tell you that much. But I'd rather not have to deal with the problems that'll come our way about it, if we don't have to."

With a loud huff, the wolf fell to the bunk, despite the bed being a little too small, and closed its yellow eyes. They all watched with bated breath, expecting the bone-crunching and screaming any minute. It sounded like a painful process, with or without Percy's screaming.

It was in the last fifteen minutes of the night shift when they heard it again, the scraping and crunching of the bones shifting and shrinking. They all stood up and ran to the cell to look. The fur fell away and seemed to dissolve in midair, leaving normal amounts of human hair behind. The muscles shrank back to their regular size. His ears went back to their proper spots, and the snout shrank back to form a human face. His spine and limbs shrank back. And there was Percy again, human, sprawled out dead asleep on the bunk. All of the guards breathed a sigh of relief.

"Percy?" Paul called, rummaging through his keys as he did so. "Percy!"

An irritated sigh came from the bunk as he turned over on his back, arm thrown over his head. He opened his eyes, and groggily said, "What?" Then he furrowed his brow in confusion, realizing he wasn't in his own bed or home. He shot up, eyes wide, taking in his surroundings. "What-! Why am I in this cell?! I didn't do anything!"

"He doesn't remember a damn thing," Brutal whispered to Dean and Harry.

"Get me out of here! Now!" Percy demanded.

"If you learn to ask politely, I just may," Paul replied.

Percy shot him a murderous look. "You let me out of here now or I'll have your job," he spat.

"I don't have to open this door, you know," Paul said, realizing what Brutal had about Percy's memory. "I'll leave you in there all night."

Percy wavered at that, not knowing at all what time it was, and how much longer all night would be. He looked at Paul again, and said bitterly, "_Please_ Paul, get me out of this cell."

"Now that's better," he replied, unlocking the cell and sliding it open.

Percy shot right out of the cell angrily. "Why'd you take my clothes too? And why'd you put me in there to begin with!"

"We didn't take your clothes, Percy," Brutal replied. "You took 'em yourself." It was the truth, after all. When he'd turned into the wolf, he'd ripped away his coat and shirt which no longer accommodated his size, apparently forgetting about his pants altogether. Although, they figured they were lucky for small favors like that.

"Why would I do that?" Percy said, knowing himself a little better than that.

"You puked up your guts all over 'em!" Brute said. "Went to wash 'em, came back, and laid down on the bunk. Said you was too tired to drive home and asked to sleep off the rest of your shift. Paul said that'd be just fine, and here we are."

He considered this, running a hand through his mussed up hair. Then he nodded, as if he remembered. "Yeah. Yeah, that's right. You didn't have to lock it, you know. Not like I'm one of them," he said, still irritated.

"Well, probably not, but it made for a good joke for a little while, I figure," Brute said.

"Sorry I don't share in your monkey humor," Percy said, and stalked off down to the wash room to find a new shirt, coat, and shoes.


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks again to anyone reading or reviewing. Green Mile belongs to Stephen King.

Killers

Eleven

Percy was full of energy. But most of that energy was channeled into nervousness. Contrary to the beliefs of the other four guards, he had remembered bits and pieces of his 'fit', as he was referring to it in his own mind. He wasn't sure if what he was remembering was a dream or real. It sure felt real to him, but at the same time, he knew it was too bizarre of an event to possibly be real. Plus, the others hadn't said a thing about it, explaining sensibly why he ended up on a prison bunk with his shirt, shoes, and blue uniform coat missing.

He'd thought they were telling the truth, until he got to the washroom and didn't see either the coat or shirt in the wash. And his shoes were still missing, nowhere to be seen. His heart began to pound as he started to fear that maybe his fit had been real, that he'd really turned into a monster. But why hadn't any of the guards said anything?

He grabbed one of the white uniform shirts, moving almost mechanically as he thought hard about the situation. He'd remembered vomiting and feeling sick, and some immense pain. He wondered what had caused the pain, as he'd felt it all over, right to his bones. Turning into a big monster might certainly explain that sort of pain. At least, considering that he also remembered clinging to the bars of one of the cells, viciously clawing at the person inside, smelling their fear and blood and hearing their delicious heart pounding...

He froze, feeling a little sick again. Had he really just referred to another man's heart as delicious in his head? Sure, he'd thought about beating people up before, maybe enough to make them bleed or break a bone, but never anything that perverse.

_Although_, he thought, _I did cook Delacroix alive_. And only part of him had been sickened at the outcome of that.

He ran his hands through his hair again, even though it was already as neat as he could get it with his hands alone. "It's not possible I was a monster, it was just a dream." He shielded his eyes against the sunlight streaming in the few high windows, trying to avoid the headache it would give him, when he realized that something else hadn't added up.

Paul had threatened to leave him in the cell all night, as though little time had passed since he fell asleep. But the sun was already up. Their shift was over. Why would Paul lie about something like that? He didn't bother with the heavy blue coat, and started walking back to the duty desk where Paul was likely to still be, wrapping up a last cell check and leaving the final reports for the next shift. Percy knew he was there. He could smell him.

"Paul," he called angrily, walking onto the Mile.

Paul looked up, and Percy caught a flash of uneasiness in his eyes. Something wasn't right. "What is it?" Paul asked. Percy could smell sweat on him. He could _feel_ how nervous the head screw was. It made him feel sort of empowered, to know he made someone so nervous.

"Why did you all lie to me?" Percy asked coolly. He had to fight back a smirk as the nervousness radiating from Paul spiked.

"Lie?" Paul said, looking and sounding genuinely confused. Percy was impressed, thinking that maybe Paul's true calling was acting. "About what?"

"About what happened to me on my shift this night," Percy replied.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because, you threatened to leave me in that cell all night, like you thought maybe I didn't know what time it was. My clothes were not in the wash either, in fact," Percy said, getting irritated and showing it, "my clothes weren't anywhere at all. I don't recall volunteering to lay down in a filthy prisoner's bed, and I don't think I ever would. So tell me, Paul, what _really_ happened to me last night?"

"Is that that purty boy I hear?" Wharton called out. "Didja get kissed by a prince and turn back into yer purty li'l self?" He laughed, apparently finding himself very amusing.

Percy gritted his teeth, hand falling to where his revolver would've been had he remembered to strap it to him the night before. He whipped around, staring at Wharton, who was leaning against his bars, laughing.

"Wharton, keep it quiet," Paul snapped.

He went ignored. "What's it now?" Wharton asked. "Big bad wolf gonna piss his pants again?" He laughed loudly. "Make a better Li'l Red Riding Hood, though, I reckon!"

It happened fast, too fast for Paul to stop it before it was too late. Maybe one of the other guards would've been able to stop him, but they'd just left. Percy rushed Wharton's cell, grabbed a handful of greasy blond hair, and slammed him into the brick wall, face first. Wharton was too stunned to grab back, and was slammed into the wall over and over, before Paul wrestled the assailant to the ground, shouting for him to stop. Wharton fell to the ground, knocking his head against his bunk before finally sinking to the floor. Blood was smeared on the brick, and pooling slowly on the floor. His face was a bloody mess, his nose obviously broken.

"What the fuck was that?!" Paul screamed in Percy's face. His nervousness hadn't disappeared, but his anger was overwhelming. The furious scowl on Percy's face slowly faded into an expression of fear. Fear of what would happen to him, and why he couldn't keep himself from bashing Wharton's head in. The fear that, if the man died, he would likely replace him in that cell.


	12. Chapter 12

Very short this time. Sorry. XP Thanks for reading and reviewing.

Killers

Twelve

Percy was immediately discharged from Cold Mountain. Paul didn't even need to consult the warden about that, though he did come by to inspect the block after Paul told him of the incident. Percy was arrested for assault.

"Well you've got a knack for fuck-ups, son," Hal said angrily, watching medics shine a pen light in Wharton's eyes. He was still unconscious. Percy began to open his mouth to mutter a reply, but was cut short. "I don't want to hear about your Uncle the Governor. I know, Percy, I know. But what you did here can't just be lifted away, the slate wiped clean. I'm afraid you're actually going to have to be punished. For once."

Percy closed his mouth, choosing to sit quietly instead of talking at all. He knew he was in way over his head this time. As the warden had said, there was no way his uncle could pull any strings here, not without making himself look bad. He was scared. Terrified, even. Maybe he wouldn't have to be put to death if Wharton died. But a lifetime in prison wasn't exactly appealing either, and that would be the most his uncle could do for him.

"Why you take the body away?" Falken said to the medics. "Is fresh, best time to eat!"

Percy saw one of them blanch. No one moved to shut Falken up. Paul was talking with one of the police officers there, as was Hal. And Percy just sat, hands cuffed behind his back. It was impossible to be comfortable.

One of the officers approached him, scribbling on a memo pad. "Why'd you do it, kid?" The man had a Northern accent, like someone out of the movies. Percy hadn't ever been too far north, and never met anyone who really talked like that.

"Well...I couldn't stop myself," Percy answered honestly. "It felt like somebody else was doin' it, not me."

"Why this one specifically? Why not mouthy over there?" he asked. "Did he do something to bother you? Did he attack you? Was it self-defense?"

Percy thought hard about the questions. Wild Bill _had_ grabbed him a few days ago, but that was then. There was no self-defense involved. He'd just had his pride hurt, and he wasn't going to put up with it. And why should he? Why should _he_ have to deal with someone constantly insulting him? He had every right to bash that faggot's head against the bricks! That'd teach him to grab at people, to laugh at them. "No," Percy replied, knowing that Paul had already answered the same questions, and he would be honest about all of it. If their responses didn't match up, they'd sooner believe Paul than himself. "He wasn't attackin' me."

"Then why?"

Percy scowled, getting tired of the questions. "Because I was tired of him. I was tired of his runnin' mouth and his laughin' face, insultin' me. He deserved it anyway, he'll be sittin' in the electric chair long enough, so why's it matter if he dies?" he exploded.

The officer looked down at Percy, disgusted. "Just in cold blood then?"

"He was going to do die anyway," Percy maintained.

"All right," the sheriff called. "Get him over on A block. He can stay there 'til his court date." There'd be no bail set for him, since Wharton was in danger of death, and he was clearly guilty.

"You can't keep me there, you'll see," Percy threatened. "I'll get out. He deserved it! He was going to die anyway!"

Paul looked on, and shook his head. He knew Percy was a cruel person, but not this cruel. He couldn't help but feel a little guilty, like maybe if he'd told them all about the werewolf...

No, even that was too ridiculous to help him. No one would believe such a story. Even if they did, Percy was himself when it happened. He had no excuse.


	13. Chapter 13

I'm not really trying to employ the "he was abused" viewpoint here, but I do believe that there was some sort of strain in Percy's relationship with his parents, because no one turns into that big of a dick without some family problems. I'm worried about making his parents too soft or too cruel, though, so tell me what you think.

Once again, thank you to anyone and everyone reading/reviewing.

Killers

Thirteen

His mother and father visited him soon after they were notified of his arrest.

He was allowed to talk with them in the visiting room, under supervision, of course. He sat in an uncomfortable chair at a small table, still wearing his uniform. He'd never gotten around to putting his tie on. And he had to be issued prison slippers due to his work shoes having been ruined. He believed, now, that maybe he had turned into that monster. He had a demon in him, he thought, that made him bash Wild Bill's head in and made his thoughts more violent.

Or, at least, he was trying to convince himself of this. He thought maybe if he believed it was a demon, that God would see him through getting rid of it, despite the fact that he generally never payed attention in church or prayed much. And the latter he only did when he really needed or wanted something, like now.

He looked up as his father came in first. He was an average sized man, not short like his son, but not a tall man either. He was gaining weight as he aged. His hair was gray and cut close. He wore a nice suit, with a tie. Probably had to leave work to get here. Percy kept his eyes on his feet, feeling the anger radiating from his father.

His mother was crying, asking herself out loud how she could raise a boy who would do such a thing. She was a bit younger than her husband, with long, dark hair that reached her shoulders. She was short and thin, a frail-looking woman, clad in a summer dress. It was hot enough for them, after all.

"What happened, Percy?" his father asked.

He couldn't bring himself to say the same things he'd told the officer questioning him. He couldn't tell his own mother and father that he truly felt a man needed to die and that he was the one to try and do it. He knew the police had likely already informed them of his crime, anyway.

"Mind me, Percy, what happened?!" his father repeated, anger showing in his face and voice now. The outburst caused his mother to cry harder. Even Percy jumped, remembering getting whipped as a kid for not minding his mother or father. _Funny_, he thought, _how things like that stay with you and show up at the strangest times_.

"An accident," Percy replied, still looking at his feet. The prison slippers were such ugly shoes.

"And you tell me how you slam a man's head into the wall repeatedly, on 'accident'," his father asked, fuming. "Do you know what this is going to do to your uncle's career? Not to mention mine! And your poor mother! Was it worth it?"

Percy wanted to say yes, just to spite him. His mother's sobs restrained him, though. Now he just felt regret, even though a little place in his mind still told him Wharton deserved it, and that he would die soon either way.

"News reporters will be all over this story, mark me," his father said. "It'll be on the front page of news papers all over the place-'Governor's nephew commits murder!'"

"I didn't kill him," Percy replied. "He's alive, I didn't kill him."

"'Assault' doesn't look any better, boy!"

"Why, Percy?" his mother sobbed. "I tried to raise you right! You were such a sweet little boy...How could you have done this? My sweet little boy...!"

'Sweet' was never a word anyone used to describe him. He thought about that. Even he didn't think of himself as sweet. Never had a girl called him a 'sweet boy' or told him he was nice. Why wasn't he thought of that way?

_Because you smash people's heads in._

He shook the thought from his head.

"I'm sorry, mama," he said softly, the regret in his voice clear. If anything, he didn't want to upset her. She had raised him right, it wasn't her fault he'd done wrong.

"You'd damn well better be," his father snapped. "You'd better pray, son. Pray that man doesn't die and you don't end up in here for the rest of your life. And you better pray that God forgives you for this, because there's no damn way I'm going to." He stood, helping his wife to her feet.

"Oh, God forgive my baby boy," his mother wailed at that. It cut through him with more pain than anything else could.


	14. Chapter 14

Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing. The bits about laws and prison stuff here, I looked up on wikipedia, but could've easily misinterpreted them. Feel free to point out any factual errors(aside from, you know, werewolves and all...)

Killers

Fourteen

A block was one of the least problematic cellblocks in the prison. Percy thought that the E block had been relatively quiet in his time spent there, but didn't count it in the same group as the other blocks. It was smaller, and existed on a different time than the others, or so it felt. Maybe it was because the inmates' days were numbered, and that feeling filled the place, causing the guards to be dragged along the same crawling timeline.

A block was mostly for petty theft or other small-time crimes that people usually got out of by paying bail. If they decided not to, they spent a few nights in prison instead. Percy was lucky enough to be put here with the least threatening prisoners on the entire complex. These were normal people who'd messed up, but not too badly. Or at least that's how he thought of them.

In his cell, there were two bunks. He had a cellmate, a guy with reddish hair and freckled skin, not too much older than himself, named Dale. The man was in for stealing a good deal of money from a man at gun point. The gun hadn't even been loaded. He was in desperate need for money to feed his ailing mother, but had lost his job. There was a Depression going on, after all. It was hard for everyone to find work.

"So what'd you do?" Dale asked.

"I'm in for assault," Percy replied cooly. "The guy was a murderer though, so I don't feel bad about it."

Dale's eyes widened at that. "A murderer? How'd you know?"

"I worked on death row," he said simply, trying to pass himself off as some hardened prison guard, even though he'd only been working there for a few months.

"Jee-zus!" Dale exclaimed. "Musta been one excitin' job!"

"It had its days," Percy said. That wasn't something he had to lie about.

"Tell me some stories about it."

So Percy spent the majority of the day impressing Dale with stories, mostly embellished ones, or outright lies. And the man had no problem listening. He was completely gullible, which is probably the only reason Percy got away with his exaggerations.

It was during dinner when things got worse.

Dale was tailing Percy like a dog, and he couldn't say it bothered him too much. He'd never had someone hang on his words like that before, and just blindly believe everything he said. The look on the guy's face when he mentioned being the nephew of the governor would've been worth a price of admission. Percy began to fancy himself quite a story-teller, and even started to believe that some of the stories had actually happened the way he described them.

The two were sitting at a table, one across from the other. E block didn't have a big cafeteria like the other blocks. The inmates didn't leave their cells for their meals, and the guards usually brought food from home to eat. Still, he wasn't unfamiliar with prison cafeterias, and had eaten in them before during a few of his shifts when he'd forgotten to bring food along with him and didn't feel like lasting a whole night on sweets and pops from Toot's cart.

"So if yer uncle's a governor, why don't he bail you out?" Dale asked, mouth full of biscuit. Percy found the man's table manners disgusting.

"Because you don't get bail on assault charges," he answered. "And don't talk with your mouth full of food, you lugoon." He realized he probably sounded like a mother hen, but poor table manners were a pet peeve.

Dale laughed, trying to keep his mouth closed as he did so. His laughter slowly faded as he stared at Percy, who was beginning to look very pained. "You all right?"

_Fuck_, Percy thought, holding his head in his hands again. He could feel the change coming on. He knew it was real. He had turned into that monster the night before. He didn't want it to happen again, not now.

But there wasn't anything he could do to prevent it. He cried out as the pain intensified, bones shifting and scraping and stretching. His muscles burned as they lengthened to accommodate the new frame. He felt the fangs fill up his mouth, and the fur shoot out of his skin. Then his human conscious was swallowed by the monster's.


	15. Chapter 15

So we're about to earn the 'M' rating here...A bit gory. Thank you very much to everyone reading and/or reviewing. It's very kind of you, and keeps me posting. Glad you enjoy it!

Killers

Fifteen

Percy stood slowly, snarling quietly at the terrified man sitting in front of him. By now, most of the cafeteria was aware of the inhuman creature standing at one of the tables in shredded clothes. The ones that weren't would be aware soon enough. Inmates shouted and screamed, most running towards the doors where stunned guards tried their best to keep everyone from flying out of the room. If they allowed the inmates to escape, they'd lose their jobs.

A brown, clawed hand shot forward, grabbing the red-headed man by his hair. This elicited a terrified howl, green eyes wide as saucers. Percy slammed the man into the table, jumping up on it to pin the man down with his foot. That heart beating so rapidly, pounding in the monster's head...He'd do anything to get rid of it. Fear poured from the man, fueling the monster's attack.

Fangs sank into pale skin, ripping through arteries and airways. Dale was no longer able to scream-only a strangled gurgle escaped his mouth, along with blood. Percy ripped open the man's stomach, and spread his ribs with a resounding 'crack'.

The beating, the pounding, he had to stop it...

Guns fired as more guards in blue filtered into the room. The ones who weren't firing at the beast were escorting prisoners back to their cells in a hurry.

Bullets whizzed by Percy, some even biting into him. But he knew, by way of some bizarre instinct, that it wouldn't harm him in the end. Only a shot with enough force behind it to shatter his skull and spray his brains on the floor would be enough to kill him. He continued ripping the man apart, ejecting organs and entrails onto the table and floor, until finally, the beating stopped. The fear disappeared. The man was dead.

He growled, ripping out that accursed organ, and crushing it in his hand.

He sniffed, looking all around him at the guards. The gunpowder smell dominated everything, even the blood. But the fear was still there, coming from everyone still in the room. He continued to turn slowly in a tight circle, looking over each of the guards, learning their scents. He consulted his human mind for any familiarities. There were none.

He let out an intimidating howl before charging at the guard nearest him-a squat man in blue, who fired off another round, completely missing the brown beast in his fit of terror. The man turned to run, but the monster was too large, too fast for him to escape.

It pounced, crashing to the floor on top of the man. He began smashing the man's head against the cold floor until the dull thuds turned to sickening squelching sounds as blood and brain seeped out of the broken skull.

He continued towards the door in leaps and bounds. He heard the sound of the heavy work boots worn by the guards trailing behind him, coming closer. He fell to all fours, running faster still. They wouldn't catch him-he wouldn't allow it. They weren't worth taking him as a prize.

Bursting through the main corridor of the cell block, he elicited more screams and shouts. There was confusion, fear, nervousness...What pitiful, terrified creatures these humans were.

The gunpowder smell was back, warning him of what was to come. But he was so close to the door now, the way out. Guns fired, bullets raining down. One struck his shoulder, another, his calf, and another still in his lower back. But the pain was inconsequential; he was thrusting the heavy door open as they still fired on him. He smelled his own blood dripping out, matting his fur.

The night sky was clear, moon shining in the sky like a silver dollar. He continued running, allowing his memories, his human mind, to direct him. That mind was scared and enthralled all at once, such a confused thing.

The sound of a siren blaring pierced the night. His human mind recognized this-lock down. Prisoner escape. His beast mind knew he'd have no problem launching himself over the fence surrounding the compound.

He ran straight for it, keeping an ear out for vehicles. He could smell the gasoline wafting over from various directions, but there were not many active vehicles in the entire prison. He put forth no effort in hiding himself. If any man wanted to challenge him, they could see the disemboweled man in the cafeteria, or the now-faceless guard. They didn't stand a chance in hell.

His clawed hands clung to the fence, and he pulled himself up. The barbed wire at the top would prove to be painful, but his mind was elsewhere. Pain meant nothing. There was only the escape.


	16. Chapter 16

Killers

Sixteen

It was a headache waking up.

Sunlight seemed to pierce his eyes, stabbing into his brain. He groaned, never very good about waking up. He wanted to continue laying in his bed, just giving himself time to become fully awake before doing anything else.

Except he wasn't in his own bed. He wasn't in a bed at all. He rolled over on his side, pushing himself up to a sitting position and surveying his surroundings. He was in a stable, sleeping in an apparently empty stall. He ran his hands through his hair again, brushing out hay with his fingers. His breath tasted horrible, and his legs ached. He began to wonder how he got to the stall, and why he was sleeping in it, when flashes of the night's escapades hit him like a sack of bricks. He recalled in horror how he had killed not one, but two men with his bare hands at the prison, and the farmer and his wife who kept the stalls. He'd killed a horse, ripping out its throat, and mangled a few chickens, eating them alive.

He turned and vomited in the hay, realizing now why his breath was so horrible. He was disgusted by what he had done, but the thrill he knew he'd gotten out of it while doing it disgusted him even more. He thought back to his sobbing mother, and an entire new wave of guilt washed over him. He wondered if anyone would be looking for him. After all, the only person who would've seen and known he had turned into the monster that got away was dead now. People probably would assume that he'd escaped during the ensuing chaos.

But, no, he was wrong. Few other people knew of what had happened to him the past two nights. They worked on the E block, death row. Paul, Brute, Dean, and Harry all knew. And had lied to him about it. He felt anger welling up, pushing aside the short-lived guilt-trip. He could've avoided all this if they'd let him know! He knew he could've! It was their faults he was hiding here in this stall!

The word 'hiding' brought him back to reality. He knew now the true gravity of the situation with just that one word, that he was hiding. A refugee of sorts. Police would certainly be looking for him, being that he was the governor's nephew and all, not to mention the incident on the E block which, if his father was right, would be in newspapers all over the place by now.

He stood up, groaning at the pain in his legs. He knew, at least, no one would be around to ask him any questions, and if he hurried, he could make it to the house of one of the guards before his latest crimes at the farm were discovered and figure out how deep in trouble he was. Again, he had no shirt or shoes, and his pants were barely staying on his waist. They were also covered in blood and dirt. He didn't think it'd be a good idea to try to head back to his own home-people would assume he'd go there first.

Percy crept to the half open barn door, peering out of the opening for any sign of life. Just a few chickens pecking around. He could see the small house from where he was, the back door ripped off its hinges. He headed for that open door, hoping he'd be able to find some clothing to fit him. There was a small wooden porch, and just a few stairs to get up to it. The house was still. Of course. He'd killed the only inhabitants. He tried not to think of that as he looked for a bedroom.

It wasn't hard to find. The home was small, and a trail of blood led him right to it. He covered his mouth with his hands as he saw the two corpses in the room. One lay on the bed, completely mutilated and unrecognizable. He could only tell it was once a woman for the long hair on its head. The man was sprawled out on the ground, a bloody mess. His spine had been pulled out halfway, the bones exposed. Percy shut his eyes tightly, as if when he opened them again the corpses would disappear. But he only saw their screaming faces on the back of his eyelids. And that part of him whispering still about what a thrill it had been to kill them.

He turned away from the scene, looking for a wardrobe. The clothing was too big, but if he could just find a belt, he should be able to wear something. Overalls seemed to be the farmer's clothing of choice, but Percy hadn't worn overalls since his age was in the single digits. Percy didn't think the man owned a single pair of slacks, and settled for a rough-looking pair of blue jeans. He changed into them, having to roll up the legs to avoid stepping all over them. He pulled a plain brown belt out of the wardrobe, tightening it up just to be able to wear the jeans. He grabbed the first shirt he saw, and buttoned it up, having to roll the sleeves up. The work boots in the closet were encrusted with mud, and looked a few sizes too big, but he pulled them on and laced them up.

He glanced at himself in a mirror. He was dirty, and looked like a little boy dressing up in his daddy's clothing. He ran a hand through his hair again, and angrily left the bloodied room.


	17. Chapter 17

Killers

Seventeen

He followed the road from a distance, staying in the cover of the woods. He knew well enough that he couldn't take any chances on being seen. They'd just put him right back in jail. If he hadn't gotten off the compound, he wouldn't have worried so much about it. But escaping would've just lengthened his sentence. Plus they might somehow connect him to the murders in the barn. He didn't even know if Wharton was alive or not. He ran his hands through his hair again. It was all weighing down on him, and he still kept adding more shit to the steaming pile. He growled, kicking a tree angrily.

He truly felt lost for the first time in a long time. He never saw this coming for him. He didn't deserve it. He was a governor's nephew for Christ's sake! Why should he have to put up with this crap? He didn't really want to kill those people, the monster did.

But that monster was still part of him, he knew, and he would be punished for the crimes it committed too. Maybe if he could show them, if they knew what was wrong with him, they'd help him get rid of it. It'd be like being declared incompetent. It wasn't his fault, anyway, what'd happened to all those people. He'd never committed a serious crime in his life, except maybe dealing with bootleggers sometimes, but people did that all over the place here.

Yet he still couldn't bring himself to believe that anyone wanted to help him. Few people even liked him. He didn't really have any friends to turn to. The closest thing he had to a friend was Paul, or maybe even Dean if he caught him on a good day. And he only considered them because they were willing to talk to him without condescending to him all the time, or telling him how much they hated him all the time.

He then decided that he would have to track one of them down, and ask for their advice.

Percy spent the whole day walking, following the road, freezing in fear every time he heard a car coming. He passed a house occasionally, usually not seeing or hearing anyone. He wasn't quite sure what part of the town he was in. He only ever went to the general store, really. The town was mostly farms anyway.

He walked for hours, finally noticing that there were more cars coming and going. He knew he was getting closer to town and the main roads now. Little shops and stands were starting to pop up alongside the roads. He stopped at one, paying for a newspaper, fearing for the worst.

He walked as he read it, scanning the paper for his name. He thought he'd gotten off for now when he saw the small article, with a picture of himself, and one of Wild Bill's mugshot next to that. The article was about Percy's outburst, and mentioned his relationship with the governor. His uncle hadn't been reached for comment. He growled, crumpling the newspaper up as best as he could, dropping it on the ground.

The small town was already busy, cars coming and going from the few stores and buildings and offices. He was headed for the general store. He needed something, anything, to get the disgusting taste out of his mouth. He didn't have a whole lot of money on him; he'd probably lost most of it while he was rampaging around that barn as the wolf. What little he'd had was in the pockets of his stolen pants.

He reached the general store, hoping desperately that no one would recognize him. He pulled open the door, keeping his head down. He put a pack of chewing gum and an apple on the counter, still keeping his head down. He had just enough money for it, even getting to keep a few pennies. He turned, biting into the apple immediately. It helped get rid of the rancid taste. He took another bite, making his way for the door when someone called out to him.

"Hey, don't I know you?"

Percy froze, hand on the door handle.

"You just look doggone familiar," the man repeated, squinting at Percy. He didn't recognize the man's voice, and was guessing he'd seen the article in the paper with his picture next to it. Percy turned to look back at the man.

"No, sir I don't know you," he said, leaving the store. He walked quickly, still keeping his head down. The man followed him outside, apparently remembering where he knew him from.

"Police! Somebody call the police!" the man shouted out. "That's him, that's Percy Wetmore! He must've escaped from the prison! Police!"

Percy broke into a run, abandoning his apple. He headed for the woods again. He looked over his shoulder, noticing that a man in uniform was indeed chasing him. Adrenaline fueled him. He was terrified. Then the man began firing his gun at him.

"Shit!" Percy screamed, bracing himself for the bullets. The first one whizzed by him, much too close to his ear for comfort. He ran into the street, causing a car to slam on its brakes.

"What the hell're you doin' boy?!" the man shouted.

Percy kept running, the tree line getting closer. He screamed in pain as a bullet pierced his shoulder. He lost his footing and tripped, biting his tongue as he hit the sidewalk.

"Stay down on the ground!" the officer shouted.

_Like hell I will,_ Percy thought, shoving himself up and he was running again. But the officer had gained on him, and tackled him back down to the sidewalk.

The officer's gun was pressed against the back of his neck now. "Stay down!" the man repeated. "You're under arrest for the murder of William Wharton!" Percy's eyes went wide. Wild Bill was dead. He gritted his teeth against the pain as the officer roughly pulled his arms behind his back to cuff his wrists together. "Get up, slowly."

He complied, having to be helped up by the cop. The man kept one hand on his cuffed wrists and the other on his gun, still pressed to the back of his neck.


End file.
